


A Mother Tells Her Son, Darling Look at the Sparks

by orphan_account



Series: Firework Eyes [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Other, pyromaniac!Stiles (and his mom)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 20:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ obsession with fire started with his mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mother Tells Her Son, Darling Look at the Sparks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chelsea](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Chelsea).



> So I don’t know if they’ve ever named Stiles’ mom? But I took Genim and wanted something that was vocally similar? So I went with Jennifer.

She would hold his hand, his tiny little hand and wrist that was dwarfed by her elegantly large and delicate hands, all slender fingers and finely manicured nails but coated in chipped paint. She would hold his hand that was clutched around a liter almost bigger than his hand itself, and she would lead him to the candle. “Just like this baby, be careful,” she'd whisper in his ear. When the flame catches on the wick Stiles lets out a little gasp and his mother laughs breathlessly, eyes trained on the softly dancing fire. “Isn't that exciting, darling?”

Stiles' eyes light up like Christmas and he can't find his voice to answer, so he just nods until his neck is sore.

)

“Now, darling, you can't tell Daddy about this, okay?” She tells him. “This is just a mommy and you secret, okay?”

“Okay, mommy.” Stiles' hair is getting a little shaggy and falls into his eyes. “Can I see the lighter?” His missing two front teeth thicken his 's' sound into a 'th' and his mother kneels to pinch at his seven year old cheeks.

“You promise not to tell your father?”

“Pinky swear!” And he dutifully holds up a pinky, and his mom links hers to lead him to the kitchen. “Can we try a piece of paper?”

Jennifer laughs, her head tilting back. “Oh, you're getting a little ahead of yourself, don't you think darling?”

Stiles pouts and crossing his arms. “I'll be careful!” He insists. “And you'll be here!”

“Of course I will, Genim, just..” She looks at the lighter on the counter, and sighs. “Alright, but only one piece, and then we're done, okay?”

His face lights up so bright that that alone is enough to erase Jennifer's guilt. She scoops him up and sets him on the counter by the sink.

“I'm going to grab a piece of paper, okay darling? Don't move.” She commands softly, then leaves the room to slip into her husband's study. When she reenters the kitchen, Stiles is carefully catching the lighter, grinning gap-toothed at the miniscule flame. She clears her throat and he freezes.

“Sorry mommy.”

“It's okay,” she soothes. She nods at the sink and holds up the sheet of paper. “We've got to be extra careful, okay? I don't want you getting hurt.” He nods and Jennifer knows that he didn't really listen, but she can't deny him this, she would never keep him from what makes him happy. “You light the bottom corner, okay?”

“Okay.”

She holds it pinched between two fingers over the sink, and Stiles leans forward; he keeps a hand anchored on her sleeve and stretches out the hand holding the lighter. He flicks the dial once, and pouts when it doesn't spark. He tries again and lets out the most adorable, slightly manic giggle Jennifer has ever heard, and he claps once the paper is starting to submit to the flame creeping up it.

“Isn't it gorgeous, darling?”

)

Stiles remembers it very clearly: he's ten before they take another step in their pyro-oriented tendencies. First was simply a candle when he was six; the paper when he was happen. Occasionally, when he was alone, he'd burn a leaf or a twig and once he found a loose bird feather in the forest. But the next time him and his mother light something new and exciting _together_ is when he's ten.

It's his birthday, long after the party is over and after his father has taken off for a late night shift. His mother takes him by the arm and leads them into the corner of their back yard.

“Darling, do you want to have some fun?”

Stiles' grin is answer enough.

The particular corner of their backyard is dark and can't be seen from any of their neighbor's windows, which Stiles knows fits just perfect for their plans. They sit on the grass, cross-legged and knees bumping. There's a small pile of twigs, but it's more than he himself has ever burned.

Jennifer grins at her son produces the lighter than her husband usually uses to light the grill, then hands it to Stiles. “Careful,” she tells him, like always.

He nods and very carefully dips the tip of the lighter into the center of the sticks and leaves and old newspaper. It catches on the first pull of his trigger finger, and he can't even make a noise of excitement, he's too mesmerized. He grins, though, and sticks out his tongue as his eyes grow wide. Their chests and faces are illuminated by the harsh and toasty yellow-orange glow of the small fire.

“Genim? Jenny? Where are you guys?” 

Jennifer gasps out “darling!” and snatches back the lighter and stands to head her husband off in the kitchen. Stiles does what comes to mind first, and begins to stomp on the twigs. The fire is out in seconds, and his shoes are a little charred and it makes him happier than he ever could've imagined.

)

The Hale fire is something that everyone hears about.

So is Jennifer's case of lung cancer.

)

She's sitting in the hospital, hooked up to all these machines and breathing a little unevenly when thirteen year old Stiles comes in and hugs her with all his might. His father is downstairs eating and getting Stiles a soda, and Jennifer has a present for her little darling.

“Sweetie, when you go home tonight, go into mommy's closet, okay?”

Though he's far past being a child, Stiles nods and goes along with each word slipping from his mother's mouth.

“There's a little box in the back, and in it there's a little surprise for you. I want you to have the box and what's in it, alright darling?”

“Okay mom.”

“Good boy,” she leans up and kisses his forehead. “Keep the present safe, okay? And think of me whenever you use it.”

He swallows thickly and nods and kisses her cheek. His phone vibrates in his pocket telling him that his dad wants him down in the cafeteria for lunch. His dad thinks they're exhausting mom, bothering her too much, and that makes Stiles feel more guilty than he thought he could. He kisses her cheek again and hugs her like it's the last time he'll get a chance to. He deeply inhales her perfume and ignores the way the scent is tainted with hospital.

He leaves with wet eyes that are dry by the time he sits across from his dad.

)

It doesn't rain on the day of the funeral. It's actually amazingly warm and dry out, and Stiles can't help but think about how nicely all the flowers family and friends have brought would catch, especially with the lighter that's begging to burn a hole in his pocket.

It's a deep purple, with gold font on the side, swirly and elegant just like his mother:  _Darling_ .

Derek and Laura Hale are there, paying their respects. Derek is older than him and looks angry, even when he looks at poor mourning Stiles. It's infuriating, and Stiles can't help but feel like their history isn't quite over yet. In fact, despite the way he tells himself he's glad the Hale house burned down, Stiles feels that his and Derek's history is only just beginning.

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be like a little miniseries thing? This first part focuses on how it starts, and if I can find the right inspiration then I’ll probably carry on with Stiles committing arson and shit you know how these things escalate.
> 
> Also the title comes from a Pierce the Veil song, “The New National Anthem”:  
>  _Summer and gold throw their colors at the dark; a mother tells her son, “darling look at the sparks.”_


End file.
